Obsession, Compulsion, La La La

I'm a little obsessive compulsive. Actually, I'm not a little anything. I'm obsessive compulsive in a non-scary, don't have to be institutionalized in a padded room kind of way. As you can see, it never works very well when I try to make one of my complexes or mental aberrations or physical abnormalities sound relatively un-abnormal. All I'm saying is that I don't have to lock and unlock the door seven consecutive times before I can comfortably leave the house. Any idiot knows that five times is plenty. The last two are just to be cautious.


There are a lot of us in recovery who are similarly afflicted. I hope there are, anyway. I better not be the only guy out there who's like this. One of the more popular rationales that I place great faith in is: "If one is good, a hundred is better." It worked so well with drugs and alcohol that it can only be effective with work, exercise, relationships, and the like.


I want things and my mind has no pause button. I want it, so I do it or eat it or drink it up. Sometime after the fact the rational area of my brain -- microscopic, withered, dysfunctional, as far as I can tell -- engages and suggests that the tenth cookie or seventh cup of coffee or third hour of exercise might not have been good for me. It all seems so clear after the fact.


Now . . . did I remember to turn off that blowtorch? I better go check.